


Unknowing

by NeoSoul



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anorexia, Eating Disorders, Hurt/Comfort, Parent Thranduil, Self Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:14:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25046722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeoSoul/pseuds/NeoSoul
Summary: Sometimes things get lonely throughout Mirkwood, being immortal comes with its' own perils, and sometimes things grow a bit out of hand.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> today's episode of "I project my ED on different special interests" pt 34  
> I also want to explore a more caring version of Thranduil and Legolas' relationship.  
> I am also still learning about the culture of Elves, as well as the vast world of Tolkien (it's been many years between)  
> But not a lot was actually spoken

Mirkwood was lonely.  
Moreso - Isolating in a way.  
It was colossal - and one could easily get lost in the long halls from bathrooms to the dining halls. Which - in his many years of life - Legolas had done many times before - especially when he was quite young.  
The halls weren’t quite as isolating to many - decorated thoroughly - which left nothing for the eye to desire. The ceilings high, and the walls long.  
Legolas found himself wandering the long halls - far from his own chambers. In a way - he was moreso isolating himself.  
He couldn’t quite claim he was calm nor happy, but he wasn’t unhappy - at least not visibly.  
Where it all had come from was a mystery to him. There wasn’t a single moment that had led to his actions - if someone would ever ask him why - he wouldn’t have an answer. It would just be awkward silence.  
Silence was something he liked - he wasn’t one to speak too much - It was something that never came with a reason - just something he assumedly grew up with.  
The night was strong at this point. He has lost his ability to sleep for the night. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence- at least not anymore. Wandering the large halls were all he could do - except maybe bother the guards or shoot arrows into the night - both of which would probably wake those around him.  
Legolas was hungry. It wasn’t a hunger he knew or could say he knew how to solve it. This was something that he had done. No one had brought this upon him but himself.  
He still couldn’t pinpoint where this whole thing had started. There was something - something that had wedged itself into his head, and it felt like it was pulling him. He could feel everything - and sometimes everything hurt. He felt guilt whenever his father felt despair, as if he was the one to cause it, when logically - Thranduil found nothing but joy around Legolas.  
Despite quarrels and the shared despair, they were close with one another.  
Legolas found this tearing him from his father. He found himself lying far more often, choosing to remain outdoors - away from everyone else, and to be inside his chambers - where no one dare bother him.  
It wasn’t some compulsion, nor an illness. Legolas quite liked the way it made him feel. There was always this feeling about it. It was a bit more apparent when this had first started - now it was a bit harder to see the good in it. He couldn’t quite stop it either. He had tried some nights ago - after being fed up with the same thoughts.  
The longer this went on - the more obsessed he became with food and itself. It wasn’t quite ideal for a prince. His mind barely on anything else - even in combat.  
His combat was weakened, as he no longer had the same strength. This was becoming harder to hide. One can’t lie about something, not if it was seen by many elven soldiers.  
Thranduil, well, he knew something was going on, just not exactly what. Legolas could feel his father’s eyes on him in the dining hall - where Legolas spent the meal trying to get the food off of the plate in any way possible - which meant it ended up in pockets and cloth most of the time.  
Legolas found it almost laughable - how Thranduil couldn’t see it - but that was quick to assume - Thranduil might very well know - just not know the actions to take.  
But this was just speculation - and could just be Legolas projecting his own fear upon those around him.  
Elves may be immortal - but anyone could die of starvation - just as anyone could be slewn in battle.  
Legolas hadn’t ever intended for this to be a deathwish, nor did he wish to die - he just needed something to bring him a calm during times of need.  
As he kept going, it became apparent that this could absolutely be his end - either from what he was actually doing - or a mistake in combat from the fog that seemed to cloud him more and more as this went on.  
He took all the precautions to keep his head clear - at least for the day, whether that just be the daily lul of Mirkwood, or more involved combat.  
It was easier when this was still new - his state of mind was not quite so focused - it just ran in the background, but it held a sort of power.  
When he found himself slighter, smaller, there was something about it - he couldn’t deny the fact that he liked it. It was a welcome side effect to him - and eventually had become more important than the concept of well-being.  
Those around him took quite some time before they recognized anything - and Legolas always just brought it down to stress - but never went into more detail. He just needed a way to isolate himself from others.  
To exist in his own head - wandering the large halls of Mirkwood.


	2. Nothing of Nothing//Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Insight

During nightfall in Mirkwood - large celebrations were had, with lots of wine, feasting, and merriment. This was something Legolas found enjoyment from.  
Until he had withdrawn. He would usually leave when his father had his back turned. There was a lot of fear being around such food for so long - and with the pressure he felt for consuming it.   
It wasn’t as pleasant as he could remember.   
At this point he barely would show up at all. He’d arrive for a few moments - to reassure his father, and then slip out shortly afterward.   
Sometimes he’d leave the halls. He’d go outside and train through the night. Hitting trees and targets.   
Sometimes he just went to bed. This left him utterly exhausted.   
And sometimes he would take a long walk through the trees. Choosing the most difficult path. It exhausted him even more. This would only be if he were to eat something he didn’t feel he was allowed to eat.   
Legolas lay in his bed during this night. The music going downstairs - and lots of drunken elves - which was fascinating because Mirkwood elves had quite the high alcohol tolerance.   
He couldn’t sleep, partly due to the music, partly because he was hungry. It wasn’t a calm hunger, no. It wouldn’t nag in the background until it got too annoying to bear.   
This was painful, now it wasn’t as painful as an injury per se, but it hurt enough to where Legolas had to curl up on his bed and hope it would go away.   
Obviously, he could go and eat something. That was logical, but he couldn’t. There was something preventing it. The feeling, the horrid guilt he got when did consume anything. The feeling was usually the one who set him on dangerous paths through Mirkwood when he felt the energy had been too much.   
He still had to eat at some point.   
He knew that.   
He’d do it earlier in the day - with Thranduil close by. It was a reassurance. If Thranduil could see him eat, he wouldn’t be accused of not doing so.   
He wished for sleep to come upon him - for the pain wouldn’t subside.  
And his pleas were not met. He just fell asleep with the pain still searing.  
The morning wake was not restful, and surprisingly early. He wasn’t one to rise with the sun, but he could not find himself able to fall back to sleep. He placed his feet upon the stone flooring. It was cold - but he was also cold. His fingernails purple - which seemed to come with cold fingertips.  
He moved his fingers, slowly - trying to get his blood to come into his fingertips.   
The sun wasn’t unwelcome - but it wasn’t quite as strong. A sort of blue light washed upon his room.  
He moved towards the mirror - trying to keep his balance from failing him.  
He couldn’t deny the fact that he liked how slight his body was. It wasn’t something that could be painfully obvious - not with layers of tunics that he had to wear for warmth - as he was quite cold in even the warmer months of spring.  
Summer was still horridly warm.  
Legolas stare upon his body - the thin silk drawers upon his hips, lace upon the hem, and a long silk shift over top the drawers. He could see through the layers - and how the layers draped upon his body. His silhouette was much smaller than anything he had grown used to - but there was an elegance upon it.   
He spent just a bit of time observing the mirror - making sure to pull the layers of tunics over his body - to hide the actual damage that the silk revealed.  
Legolas took to his door, and wandered the halls - with an intention to get outside - as the spring air was absolutely clear - as clear as it possibly could be.  
A breath of such air was necessary when the pains of hunger from the night before still lingered.  
Legolas had come to the conclusion that he would join his father for a morning meal - which, with his father’s sleep schedule, meant much later than anyone else in the royal hall.  
So he spent some time in the trees - shooting some early morning arrows on old targets, to sharpen his own senses - if he ever venture from Mirkwood one day.  
This proved nothing more than exhausting his already depleted energy. The draw of the bow wasn’t as simple as it always had been.   
He wasn’t quite as strong as he had always been.  
Word had caught him - and his father was wondering where Legolas was - asking him to the dining halls - so Legolas fetched his arrows and walked back through the doors. There were quite a few windy halls - and few spiral staircases to get him into the dining halls - where his father stood, waiting, in one of his shorter tunics.  
Legolas sat with reluctance - the hunger had just grown more intense. He couldn’t keep ignoring it with a hope that it would just go away.  
So he took a small piece of fruit from the blossoming trees upon Mirkwood. He couldn’t help but notice his father’s slightest smile.   
Legolas found the dull pain had left after he consumed the fruit - but he couldn’t help the albeit odd feelings of guilt.  
He quickly left the table again - almost terrified of what his father might say - even if it wouldn’t be angry.  
But nothing was said - just a quick look of almost despairing glances as Legolas left the room.  
He went back up to his chamber - where the sun was now glaring - as his father found that breakfast be served close to noon - which was always due to his father’s late waking.  
Legolas could do nothing but walk the lengths of the floor - trying to decide whether it was in his interest to go back outside - to get his mind off of what he had consumed.  
Yet this was absolutely ridiculous - he always made sure to eat something - and it never bothered him - not until now - for some reason the concept of eating was not anything he could deal with.  
There was a bit of wavering between his feet - and he felt nothing but distaste for his waning strength. It could not be helped - but it made him feel like less anyway.   
Some of the residents in the hall - those closer to Legolas could tell. They’d go out in cavalry - or just to ride upon the woods. This would exhaust him far more than it used to - his fighting was not quite as sharp.   
He felt a need to prove he could still fight - really only for himself - no one else was usually on the range.   
Legolas lifted himself from his chamber - grabbed his bow - and started towards the forest.   
Sneaking through the main halls - past his father - who was in council again.   
The ranges weren’t empty - but there weren’t too many there - so he felt comfortable.   
Legolas drew his bow - just as the morning had been - he was struggling. His strength waning even more with his more recent decrease of intake.   
It had only been a few weeks where he only eat the slightest of food - enough to remain awake - but absolutely not enough for how much he would move - especially in moments of combat.   
This was definitely taking its’ toll on his body. He could feel his fingers shake through the draw. Aiming wasn’t easy - and nothing seemed to work.   
Legolas felt the bowstring fall back into rest. His mind fell dreary - his body was heavy - it felt far heavier than it seemed to look.   
He had to reluctantly walk back through the halls - his father not on the throne - which meant that he could run into him - in this state - that would not be ideal.   
The logical thing would be to eat - as shaken as he was - but Legolas couldn’t.   
Something held him from it. Something he still couldn’t understand.   
He was obsessed. That was certain. The obsessive thoughts - the control over his own body enamored him. The smaller he would become - the more he could feel less guilt.  
Over what - he didn’t know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all - I’ll continue bc I got ideas - also   
> Elven underwear was never explained, so I went historical   
> So not sure if everyone knows historical clothing terms.   
> Drawers - fancy boxers  
> Shift - gown that goes underneath the clothes - this would be more of a shirt in this case.


	3. In Sheer Silk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Light tends to illuminate shadows.

Legolas pulled the drawers a second time - watching the baggy fabric mold to his thigh. It wasn’t alarmingly small, not to him.   
He couldn’t deny the fact that he enjoyed it. This was already established. It was the only welcome side effect.   
He found his hands tracing his collarbones - while his slight torso silhouetted in the silk little he had on with the drawers.   
This was longer - mainly for warmth - the silk itself was still translucent in the sunlight.  
Something kept him entranced. A bit of a disguise from what he was actually plagued with.  
There was a knock at his door - quite an imposing knock. He could tell it was Thranduil. There have been many years of such sounds. It meant he had to do something remotely princely.  
He sometimes forgot that he was indeed the prince of Mirkwood.  
Legolas quickly pulled a tunic to try and cover the translucent underwear he stood in - but the door opened with haste - leaving Legolas frozen - as his reflexes were no longer as sharp, not with the worsening of the issues.  
He stood - in his absolutely translucent underwear - the sun illuminating the silk. His eyes drifted, as to not meet his father’s.  
His father stood in the doorway - his long golden robe trailing behind him.   
They remain quiet. His father’s stern eyes upon him, and his own eyes to the stone floor.  
“You’re needed upon the throne room.” His father said - sternly. There was something in his voice, something that said more - but the conversation would wait. There was probably some trouble to be placed upon the dungeons.  
Even with no war - there was still no peace, as Mordor still posed a threat.  
Yet, Legolas still found this no reason to even try to push past this.  
“I’ll be there.” Legolas said, his eyes towards the tunic on the floor - and his father left the room - but he left a sullen aura behind him.  
Legolas was nothing but terrified.  
He continued to dress himself, and before leaving - grabbed one of his knives, just in case he needed to defend himself.  
His steps were a bit off kilter - but nothing too alarming. He had eaten breakfast, just alone. He hadn’t the energy to get dressed.  
The throne room was full - bows drawn as some man was pulled by his shoulders.   
He was then accused of being a spy of sorts - and with the evidence against him - it was obvious.  
It brought Thranduil to get him into the dungeon as quickly as possible. Legolas followed, per his father’s request. Steps weren’t the easiest - not for Legolas - especially not the steps of Mirkwood.  
It concerned his father.  
But they were quiet - as this was not the main concern during this time.   
Once the man was in the cell, and two soldiers stand beside it, everyone else trekked back up the long staircases.   
Legolas made his way into the forest - to get his mind off of the inevitable scolding he would receive.   
He could lie. He would lie - this had basically made him an expert liar. He could get out of meals easy - out of any questioning. It was all just lies.   
Of course it felt wrong - but he felt this need to harbor and cradle this secret.   
He found himself just wandering - almost hoping he would run into trouble - just to be away from the halls for longer times.   
He couldn’t help but feel guilt. He had always felt guilt, especially when it came to his father. Somehow he assumed he was the problem, when his father was unhappy.   
He sat by a pond - giving his exhausted body time to rest - as he didn’t quite have the strength to continue at that point.   
He wasn’t far from the halls, but he wasn’t close. He was in a spot that he quite liked to go - away from anything. The pond was blue, the dirt around it lay mossy.   
There was an intention to stay there til dusk, and if Legolas hadn't heard horses - he would’ve done so.   
He was snapped from a trance with the sun on its’ way to set, and ran back to the halls - to not be seen by anyone around.   
His legs felt heavy and clunky as he tripped over roots and branches. His entire body was shaking as he got back into the halls, and with a great deal of fighting his own self - he assumed the idea that he needed to eat, even just the slightest of meals.   
So he walked down into the dining halls, not sure where his father reside. It could be many places except the large dining halls. He would come later for the parties and celebrations - he was more likely walking among the halls with someone at his side to converse with.   
Legolas wanted nothing - he stared upon the table with a couple of bowls - which held more fruits and bread. Legolas had no time to debate, and quickly, with no thought, pulled bread and walked to his chambers, as his father never appreciated when he ate in his chambers. That had been made clear when he was still a child.   
He closed his door to eat in the comfort of his own privacy. Picking at the bread - as the concept of eating anything larger seemed too much.  
It was odd - how the hunger wasn’t as intense - even with the recent recession of his intake. It had started to numb him to the aches and pains of this whole thing.  
It only made him desire the same pains.  
When it had first started - he had floated - this made him feel joy. It had him in its grasp.  
That’s what made it addicting - he had to restrict himself more to chase the same feeling - which made it even more dangerous.  
When Legolas had finished picking at the bread, and compulsively berating himself in the mirror - he started to dress in evening wear, as the dining hall would fill with merriment soon, and his father would require him to be there.  
He pulled a silver robe of silk dupioni over the lonely under kirtle - and as he fastened a belt, with extra loops he had to poke into the fabric - a long awaited knock was upon the door.  
“Yes.” He answered - with the slightest of quivers in his voice.  
There was a gentle wash of light in the room - the early evening showing its’ head.  
The door opened, and Thranduil stood in one of his robes of iridescent red velvet - his usual evening wear. His face seemed stern, yet there was something calm about it. Legolas wasn’t fearful of what is to come- not now.   
“Legolas.” His father spoke - quite softly. Legolas looked towards him. He wasn’t sure if fear could be seen in his eyes.   
“Yes.” Legolas spoke, softly - letting his father come closer into the room.  
“You’ve become quite slight.” Thranduil pointed out - and Legolas found his breath hitch, and he knew he must lie through the obvious truth.  
“I wasn’t aware.” Legolas stated. His fingers running over the obvious tendons in his skin - which was quite light - letting the veins be shown, almost like sheer silk.  
His father remained on his feet, as Legolas sat upon his bed - distancing himself for what felt like safety, as if isolation would be safer.  
“Are you unwell?” His father then asked - as that tended to be the reason anyone would become so slight.  
Legolas shook his head.  
“I feel fine, ada. You have no need to worry” Legolas reassured his father - trying to keep it from revealing. He couldn’t let it go, not now - and it felt impossible to even fathom.  
“If you speak, I shall believe you,” Thranduil stated, as he made his way back to the door. He looked back. “You’re my own son, and I do worry for you.” He said, before leaving.  
Legolas was quite shaken - but pleased that nothing had been revealed - yet he assumed his father understood what was going on - it was absolutely obvious - Legolas could tell his father just couldn’t quite word the thoughts.  
Which was all just crashing - time ticking by.  
Legolas couldn’t quite fathom his life without it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical words pt 2:  
> Kirtle - an under tunic.
> 
> I super enjoy writing this - leave a comment if you do enjoy it!


	4. Diminished

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a trip

There were subtle ways that Thranduil motioned to Legolas - either to eat or try and get figure him out. Legolas found himself having to become somewhat of a better liar - breaking all trust he had built with his father.   
There was this awful desire - to place this above any relationship he had. He couldn’t bring himself to care if this even affected those around him.  
He feared many of those whom he saw daily - as if they’d try to pull him from something that brought comfort.   
He wasn’t ready to feel anything. This had - as of now - pulled any emotions he had, and shoved them into nothing. The hunger was the one thing he wanted to feel - nothing else.   
Legolas pulled a separate tunic over his body - one of silk. It swallowed his gangly limbs. The extent of his slightness was only highlighted by the bracers - made of brocade - that laced around the sleeves. These, when pulled tight - broke any form of secrecy Legolas held upon his body - but at this point, he couldn’t quite care. His father clearly knew - but as long as nothing was said - Legolas couldn’t find a reason to change.   
He pulled his thin hair behind him, and braided quite a small braid. He hadn’t realized that his hair had started to fall out, not until he saw the strands interwoven with his fingers. The golden hair seemed dead upon his fingers.   
Legolas quickly made sure these were thrown - so no one could find them later.   
He started the walk towards the usual dining hall - where he would be met with his father, as per every morning.   
It was always a bit worrisome - especially with the unspoken communication of concern his father always held in his face.   
The stairs were not the easiest - and they had continued to grow more difficult with time. Legolas no longer had the same nimble movement. Even with his body appearing close to weightless - in the eyes of the usual elf - he felt his limbs as much heavier.  
Faltering into the large dining hall - he found his father in one of his darker robes, one more suitable for riding. An uneasy feeling fell over Legolas, but he sat down, spite the feeling.  
There was the same spread of food along the table, and Legolas could not find it in him to consume, not until his father’s icy eyes were upon him.  
Legolas looked away, as his father’s eyes were burning into his own. He pulled bread from the table, and picked it apart - trying to hide the pieces he picked.  
“Legolas, eat. We have a long path today.” Thranduil said - hinting towards his knowledge of what Legolas had done.  
So, with a bit of shame, Legolas ate the bread, knowing his mind would not be kind to him later in the day.  
“Where will we head?” Legolas asked - his father left the table for some water.  
“Emergency council. We must ride to Rivendell.” Thranduil explained.   
“About what?” Legolas asked, quite loudly.   
“The only threat upon all Middle Earth.” Thrand stated. He looked quite distressed.   
“Why must I ride along? I can surely remain here.” Legolas asked.   
There was quite a bit of silent before Thranduil spoke.   
“I cannot justify leaving you, not while you’re unwell.” Thranduil stated. Legolas grew defensive.   
“I said I was fine, ada.” Legolas points out.   
“You’re still riding alongside myself.” Thranduil stated. The intentions were clear. Legolas could not change his father’s mind.  
“Shall I change before we go?” Legolas asked - noticing his tunic was not viable to travel on long and dangerous paths.  
“Pack anything you may need. We will be there for some time.” Thranduil explained, and he started towards the large doors that led into the stables.  
Legolas found his way back into his room - grabbing a small bag, which would only hold his weapons and a single change of clothes. He changed into a tunic of suede - over a linen kirtle - for warmth, even in the late spring sun.  
Something felt odd about this. Legolas knew there was evil lurking in the shadows - and that’s what this council was about. He knew that.  
But he feared this was sabotage towards his doings, that everyone was against him, and the only thing keeping him grounded.  
Legolas walked towards the stables to meet with his father, who already had his Elk ready for travel.   
The two mounted the large animals, and, with a bit of a cavalry behind them - set out to Rivendell.  
Legolas could tell he hadn’t the energy - even with the miniscule breakfast he had eaten.  
But the ride shouldn’t be too much upon his body.

It was upon nightfall when a loud noise was heard in the distance - quite the common occurrence in a forest. Legolas thought nothing of it, until his father drew his sword, and the horses stopped.  
Something was in the distance, it was clear now.  
Legolas found his adrenaline take over - which gave him a strength he needed to draw his bow, and fight off a small pack of orcs that had been following them for some time.  
Legolas drew his bow a few times, before the adrenaline was wavering, leaving him vulnerable, if he were to stumble - which by nightfall - with only a second piece of bread, forced upon him by his father - was almost inevitable.  
So he did. Tripping on a root behind him - which wasn’t anything he ever could do. He met the eyes of his father, before stinging pain threw itself upon his rib. He rolled to the side - to dodge a second blade, and grabbed his knives to finish the orc that loomed over him.  
The fight diminished quickly with the help of the skilled elves who came along on the journey - and the smaller than usual orc pack.  
Legolas pulled himself up. The fabric on his tunic had been ripped, with blood staining the fabric.  
He started to mount his horse - ignoring the pain that came from the wound - yet his father had separate plans.   
Thranduil pulled one of his longer robes from a bag that was strapped upon his elk - and gave it to Legolas, to keep the wounds protected.  
“You can hold it out until morning?” Thranduil asked. Legolas nodded.  
“I’ll be fine.” Legolas reassured his father.  
“Good, we shall be in Rivendell shortly.” Thranduil stated - yet Legolas knew it would not be short - but it would still be quite a trek - and he felt nothing but pain between the long layer of silk that his father’s robe was lined with, and his own linen tunic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gotta admit I like writing this - such a different writing style - uh, let me know if you're enjoying it !


	5. So it Becomes Clear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things hidden in plain sight are never hidden

Upon mid-afternoon, they had arrived in Rivendell. Legolas was still wrapped in his father’s robe - with the wound having finally ceased from bleeding. There was just a stinging whenever the silk brushed against the wound.   
There was someone already waiting upon the arrival, and promptly had them led to the stables, before they climbed the long steps of Rivendell. Legolas was pulling the robe from his feet, as he walked - as it was dragging on the floor, with his father being a bit taller than him.  
He was definitely tired - a long ride on little food didn’t fare well - and the pain that came from his ribs, as the fabric rubbed on the open, and assumedly infected wounds.   
Upon the top of the stairs stood Elrond. He had just the slightest smile drawn on his lips. There also stood two slightly shorter figures.   
Thranduil seemed quite friendly to Elrond - contrary to what Legolas had assumed.   
He stood behind Thranduil, as he used to do when he was still just an elfling - as grounds outside of Mirkwood still terrified him - just as Mirkwood wasn’t fond of opening its’ gates.  
“Was your trip eventful?” Elrond asked Thranduil, as they started walking towards the extravagant front doors.  
“We had a bit of an attack, but it was only a slight pack of orcs.” Thranduil explained.   
“I assume it didn’t take too much of a toll.” Elrond said. Legolas understood this was probably from his nature of healing - and that his own wound would have to be looked upon by Elrond.  
“Some are bearing injuries, but nothing too serious. Legolas as well, but everything should be easily healed.” Thranduil explained, looking back towards Legolas, who was shuffling in the ridiculously long robe of his father’s. He couldn’t lie about the comfort - but never understood his father’s love for such ridiculously long robes.   
“We can quickly treat the injuries, do not worry. .” They walked a bit further. Legolas still shuffling behind them - trying not to trip.  
Elrond escorted the small troupe of Elves into the large doors, and up more stairs - to assumedly their quarters for the next few days. Legolas had a room with large pillars and open space upon the sides, and a bed far larger than needed - which he promptly collapsed on from exhaustion.   
His side stung again, and his father’s robe had a bit of a blood stain upon the side. Legolas couldn’t help but feel poor for ruining the silk on the robe.   
There wasn’t much room for the poor thoughts, as his semi-asleep state was broken with someone coming through the door.  
He saw Elrond walking through the door, first with a change of clothes, and objects that Legolas couldn’t quite identify under the clothing.  
“I was told that you needed a change of clothes.” Elrond stated, and handed the folded garments over to Legolas, who slowly removed the robe, revealing the gash on his side, which was quite visible through the tears upon his clothes.  
“Uh, yes, thank you.” Legolas stated, quietly. He looked upon the simple silk shirt, and just a simple tunic to wear over the shirt.  
“We should address those wounds before they get any worse.” Elrond said, calmly. Legolas was hesitant, but agreed. He rotated his torso to show the large gashes upon his side.  
“They aren’t that bad, really.” Legolas said, trying to downplay the concern Elrond seemed to have.  
“They still need to be treated,” Elrond explained - the sharp demeanor he had as they arrived had softened. Legolas didn’t feel as intimidated as he had been just moments. There was a second of awkward silence. “I will need you to remove the tunic, so I can wrap the wounds.”  
Legolas hesitated for a bit, knowing that this was basically just revealing the entirety of himself. He inhaled, and pulled the tunic off, over his head. His heart began to race as Elrond ran a calm hand over the wounds - causing Legolas to wince.  
There was a bit of silence between them. Legolas terrified of what could ensue if either spoke.  
Water was run over his ribs. Cold water - which caught him by surprise, causing him to flinch, and Elrond quickly paused.  
“Sorry. I wasn’t expecting it to be cold.” Legolas apologized - reassuring Elrond that he was indeed fine.   
Bandages were wrapped across his chest, and then upon a smaller wound that had been on Legolas’ arm - which he hadn’t quite noticed.  
Legolas found his hand being inspected by Elrond, as if something else was wrong. It was, and this may very well be the breaking of the walls he had placed between himself and others.  
“Your nail beds appear purple.” Elrond observed. Legolas felt his stomach drop, and his heart flutter with anxiety.   
“Is that a problem?” Legolas asked - trying to mask his own fear. Elrond dropped his hand - and Legolas quickly pulled the clean shirt over his torso.  
“And you feel cold?” Elrond asked. Legolas could tell that he knew - he knew something was not right, that Legolas was unwell.  
“Not so much.” Legolas lied - to try and get Elrond off of the questions - yet it was so painfully obvious. His bare torso had already been seen.  
Elrond got up from his chair - and Legolsa assumed he had made it through the questions.  
“I’ll need to change those after dinner - which you shall be joining us for?” Elrond said.  
“Yes, I’ll be down soon.” Legolas said, realizing that Elrond knew - it was clear that he knew.  
Legolas pulled the tunic over the shirt - pulled it together with a belt, and walked down the long staircase, to find his father upon the large balcony, in an orange, evening light.  
“Do you feel any better?” Thranduil asked him.  
“Yes, thank you.” Legolas stated, and he sat. His hands couldn’t quite stop moving - knowing he must eat just made everything feel much worse.  
Two more joined the large table. Elrond seemed to acknowledge them.  
“I don’t believe you have met. These two are Arwen and Estel.” Elrond stated, as they sat.  
Dinner felt awkward. Every couple of minutes eyes seemed to be on Legolas, whether his own father, or Elrond.   
He had to figure out the strategy - and between serving himself purely leaves, and none of the cooked food - he had outsmarted those around him - without the fear of ruining the progress - really of nothing - he had made towards nothing.  
Small talk was spoken. Legolas spoke with both Estel and Arwen, and answered any questions that were spoken towards him.   
He couldn’t quite get the impending fear out of his head. He had never feared a conversation before.  
The orange evening light had faded by the time he left the table.   
He walked upon the stairs - and made it back to his room - which was a comfort - something calm before the storm.   
Legolas looked upon the vast window. He found such beauty in a dimly lit countryside.   
There was a knock on the doorframe.   
“Is it a good time. Your bandages need changing before you sleep.” Elrond asked, from the door. Legolas looked back toward him.   
“Of course.” He said, seeming chipper on the external, but his internal self was falling apart. This was assumedly a conversation of fate.   
Legolas walked back to the bed, and sat.   
“I do hope you’re settling in well.” Elrond states, as Legolas pull up the shirt he had on - just enough to reveal the wrapped wounds.   
“It’s quite nice, yes.” Legolas assures Elrond. They sit in silence for some time, as water is dispersed on the wound.   
“Why do you do such a thing?” Elrond asked - surprising Legolas with the a absolute heavy question.   
“Do what?” Legolas asked, playing naive.   
“I’ve lived for thousands of years. This isn’t the first time I’ve seen this. You have no need to hide.” Elrond reassured Legolas, who had inhaled deeply.   
“I don’t know. I guess I just thought I’d be less of a bother if I was smaller.” Legolas spoke - letting these be the first words of truth uttered from his lips.   
“To whom? Your father?” Elrond asked - wrapping bandages upon the wounds.   
“After my mother died - it’s been a way to stave off guilt.” Legolas explained - giving way for more conversation. He wasn’t terrified, not as he thought he’d be.   
“How long has it been happening?” Elrond asked. He was calm, unlike what Legolas thought would happen.   
“It’s been on and off for years - but it only got this poor during this current year.” He explained, just realizing the extent of time he had wasted.   
“And your father, does he know?” Elrond asked. Legolas shook his head.   
“I have not, but I believe he understands.” Legolas explained. He let the silk fabric of the shirt drape back upon his side.   
Elrond had finished with the wounds - and could meet Legolas with his eyes.   
“This can kill you, whether you lose your ability to fight, or your own body gives way. I understand it is not easy, but it needs to stop,” Elrond said. Legolas inhaled deeply. He had nothing much to say - worried he would say the wrong thing. Elrond had walked to the doorway. “And you must tell your father, soon in fact.” He said, before leaving.   
The conversation left Legolas with more relief than he had ever felt, but also a pit of dread that he couldn’t quite shake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright. Elrond n Thrandy are friendly here.


	6. Pushed Along

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot of the world can seem harsh.

There was a dull ache in Legolas’ side. It was assumedly the wound, as the sheets were soft.  
He opened his eyes to a soft morning light - which was quite a calming sight after a bit of a restless night.  
The balconies outside of his room were bright, but everything still felt calm.  
He rose from the sheets, his usual underwear of silk lay upon his body. He pulled the silk shirt that he was given the day before upon his body. It was just slight warmth, but warmth of any sort was welcomed. Legolas started to pull a pair of linen hose upon his calves.  
There was a knock upon the door, one that he recognized.  
Thranduil opened the door, as Legolas lost his balance upon trying to pull his left hose upon his calf.  
“I’m not quite decent.” Legolas pointed out.  
“I’ve walked in on worse. How’s the wound healing?” Thranduil asked, as he reached an arm to help Legolas balance.  
“It’s not quite painful, just dull.” Legolas said, and he pulled a pair of linen pants over his hips, before tightening the drawstring.  
“Good. Will you be coming to breakfast?” Thranduil asked. Legolas froze. Maybe Elrond had told him - it was possible - but his gaze would’ve been different. Legolas knew his father’s eyes.  
“When I’ve finished dressing.” Legolas stated - hinting that Thranduil should leave the room.  
When Thranduil had started back down the stairs - Legolas pulled an over-tunic over his head, and then pulled a belt quite tight around his hips. He slipped into his familiar pair of golden boots before heading down the long staircase, and to the long balcony.  
There were few elves, and long tables with food upon them.  
Legolas swallowed some of his own spit, fearful in some way.  
Estel and Arwen already sat, alongside Thranduil and some other elves. Legolas sat beside his father. His demeanor, sharp.  
He noticed Elrond’s eyes upon him, and with that he put slightly more upon the porcelain plate in front of him.  
He tried to force it down - but every bit was followed with anxiety and an odd anger. Legolas knew not why he was angry, and he made sure to keep it hidden from those around him. A wavering of emotions was not something he wanted to show at this point.  
He finished what was on the plate, and found himself wanting nothing more than to leave. He quickly got back up from his seat, and started towards the long hallways - finding himself somewhat lost in a separate balcony.  
He felt quite alone, and let the emotions pull him to the floor - yet sitting was not something he could feel good about.  
Legolas tried to remain silent - any emotion he would show was only to himself - to keep his location from anyone who may find him.  
It felt as if he was overreacting - this was pointless, as there was only truth in what Elrond had said.  
If he would continue - he would probably pass.  
“You seem stressed.” He heard, and his gaze looked up to find Arwen standing in front of him - a calm smile on her face.   
“I’m fine.” Legolas attempted to choke out. He looked upon the dark-haired elf. Her calm demeanor helped him feel quite safe.  
She reached a hand to help him up.  
“I believe that’s a lie,” She stated, and then pointed towards the large halls. “Join us in the library. I don’t believe you would want to sit in upon a council.” She suggested, and Legolas followed her. He was fascinated with the vast amount of books upon the shelves - and there were many elves in cushioned seats, doing anything ranging from reading to different forms of art - which isn’t something Legolas was used to, as most of his days were spent in the woods - or shooting arrows into hay barrels.   
Legolas found himself awkwardly standing in the middle of the room - more of the open space was letting sun into the large room.  
“Will you join the council today?” Arwen asked him. Legolas shrugged.  
“I assume only if my father requests.” Legolas stated. He was fidgeting - trying to ignore the guilt coming upon his throat.  
Part of him felt as if he would puke, but he had done that before, with poor results. It didn’t feel all too great, but it did work. That’s what made him come back to the thought.  
But it was risky - especially with everyone around him being quite on high alert.  
“I wouldn’t.” Estel stated from a chair.  
Why would you not?” Legolas asked - still standing in the room - resisting the want to sit - standing expended more energy.  
“It’s quite boring. You would just loathe every moment.” Estel said.  
Legolas couldn’t disagree with the words.   
“Will you sit?” Arwen asked, as she leaned against a shelf. Legolas shook his head.  
“I’m quite comfortable on my feet.” He explained - yet his feet hurt, and with his body still being quite small - he was tired by the most simple of things.  
Time passed - with Legolas shifting his weight, as the council had started. He was alone for a few hours - with no one to search for him. It was quite the lovely moment - realizing he could be alone with his thoughts - something he missed, even though it had only been a few days now that they had arrived in Rivendell.  
He wandered the long halls - looking at the pieces of art along the walls and the landscapes that peeked through the open archways.  
Something about it was beautiful - Mirkwood wasn’t as open - of course the forests existed outside of the hall - but the doors held no light towards the outside - not in the main halls.  
He was no longer in a panic - but this was because he was beginning to feel hungry. It calmed him, and it was a bit more intense with the knowledge that no one could notice while in the council.  
Legolas had moments of what he perceived to be freedom.  
Moments was quite the statement, as he heard footsteps behind him.  
“I was told to ask you if you wanted to come riding.” Estel stated, clearly out of breath from sprinting down the long halls.  
Legolas found himself quite shaken from being taken out of his trance, but he wasn’t angry, actually, he was quite relieved. The same thoughts that made him feel bliss - they terrified him, especially with all the absolute fears of pain that come after the bliss - with the constant reminder of death in his head.  
“I’ll take on the offer.” Legolas said - a slight smile creeping across his face.  
“Good, then you’ll be following me towards the stables.” Estel said, quickly bounding down the halls.  
Legolas couldn’t quite keep up - but a bit of adrenaline kept him going.  
The ride was slow - Arwen led Estel and Legolas through the landscapes of Rivendell - showing landmarks.  
The countryside was absolutely beautiful - Legolas took in the vast scenery.  
The entourage came to a stop by a river. Arwen dismounted, and Estel followed. Legolas assumed he should as well.  
He stood in the wind, questioning what they had stopped for - until a bag was taken from one of the horses - and Legolas felt dread.  
They had brought food - which wasn’t anything Legolas wanted during this moment.  
“We’re under the tree if you feel inclined to join.” Estel called. Legolas turned.   
He couldn’t just say no - not after what had happened at breakfast.  
“I’ll be there in a bit.” Legolas called back. He quickly found his fingers wrapped upon his bony wrist - a feeling he found calming. He inhaled deeply, and made his way towards the tree.  
The food itself wasn’t concerning - he found he could actually feel safe eating some of it - but only a bit - his own stomach wasn’t great at handling food - not after growing accustomed to his absolute poor portions.  
He sat across from Arwen, and picked at some of the greenery upon the spread - the safest of the food.  
“Do you enjoy Rivendell?” Estel asked.  
“It’s nice, nothing like the woods or our halls.” Legolas explained - as he tore the greenery apart before eating it - a habit that Thranduil did not enjoy.  
“And the wound you walked in with? Is it healing? It looks quite painful.” Arwen asked.  
“It’s much better, thank you.” Legolas said, awkwardly.  
They spoke of stories - different years, moments, and even legends of the past. Legolas had grown much warmer to the two as they finished with the food, and started preparing to go back.  
Legolas felt both disgusting, yet completely fine - still fearing the long awaited conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soz for so late - I'm doin a lot of outside work.


	7. It All Comes Out on the Way Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Such secrets cannot be withheld

Rivendell held high tensions - the next two days were in hiding - while his father spent most of his waking moments in council. Legolas could hide until Elrond came to check on the healing wound - which wasn’t healing as quickly as it should.  
And there were nightly comments upon it.  
Legolas knew he would need to discuss matters with his father - but the high stress of his situation was quite terrifying.  
He sat upon the bed - while Elrond prepared to clean the wound - as Legolas found his wounds were not healing as fast as they should.  
Which was unsurprising.  
Thranduil was leaning along the doorframe - which was moreso embarrassing for Legolas.  
And terrifying.  
“Must you stand there?” Legolas asked - his cheeks starting to flush. Thranduil smirked and pulled his shoulder fully into the room.  
“Am I no longer allowed to be concerned for my own son?” He asked. Legolas shrugged it off - not giving anything more an ambiguous answer.  
Elrond could tell that tensions were high - so he made sure to examine something else - pausing the need for Legolas to remove his shirt.  
There was a pause on his hands - and Elrond’s demeanor changed.  
“Thranduil, you may go.” Elrond said, his voice quite demanding.  
The door closed with a long sigh.  
Legolas kept his eyes down.  
“These marks upon your knuckles are new.” Elrond told him.  
“A day old.” Legolas confessed. He was prompted to remove his tunic, for Elrond had to access the wound.  
“When did it happen?” Elrond asked - his voice deepening with concern.   
“After dinner. I couldn’t quite take the poor feeling.” Legolas explained - allowing himself to be open and honest.   
“This is much more destructive than one could fathom. You are traveling down a darker path if you choose to continue.” Elrond said, his voice was uneasy.  
Legolas felt affected by the concern - but it didn’t cause enough of a shock for anything to change.  
The relieving feelings that come from it - they surpassed the worry of others.  
“And if I choose to continue?” Legolas asked, as Elrond wrapped a new set of bandages over the wound.  
“Then you will lose your strength and your life.” Elrond stated, starkly. He kept his strong eyes upon Legolas, as he stood. Legolas scrambled to pull his evening tunic upon his torso.  
“Then I do not care for my strength.” Legolas said, as even the idea of existing and recovering was the most vile thing one could imagine.  
“So you’ve made your mind up, have you? You will not speak of this to your father?” Elrond asked, as he walked towards the door.  
“I have made my decision.” Legolas said, with vitriol.  
“As you wish.” Elrond said, as he closed the door.  
Legolas was then left alone, as Elrond found himself shaken with what appeared to be the death wish of the young Mirkwood prince.  
The halls seemed so large, and his heart was heavy. He wished to speak to Thranduil, but could not. Legolas trusted him to keep this secret.  
Elrond went to overlook the wood passes of Rivendell. The night sky so vast. Empty feelings had him terrified. He was not dealing well.  
“Something bothers you.” A female voice spoke behind him, and Elrond turned towards a concerned Galadriel - who had arrived a day after Thranduil for the Council.  
“I do not know what can be done.” Elrond spoke. Galadriel floated towards his side.  
“What ails your mind?” She asked.  
“Legolas, the son of Thranduil; his spirit is ill, and I cannot find a way to help. He refuses to speak of it.” Elrond said, his gaze upon the railing.  
“What ails the Prince? I may be able to help.” Galadriel asked, keeping calm.  
“He will not eat enough to sustain himself, and it’s growing worse.” Elrond said. Speaking quietly, as if Legolas could hear him.   
“Is there a reason why? There must be something deeper that ails him.” Galadriel asked, her eyes glinted, but with deep concern.  
“Guilt. He blames himself for something he did not do.” Elrond explained. He continuously looked back to the archways - making sure that Legolas could not hear. He could not fathom breaking the trust, but he could not keep this to himself, not any longer. It weighed upon him so dearly.  
“That is common for someone in his position. He has experienced such a heartbreaking event, and he must process the event; even if done poorly.” Galadriel said. She placed her warm hands upon Elrond’s shoulder, hoping to reassure his heavy heart.  
“That’s something I do understand, but I found something much more concerning. There were deep red marks upon his knuckles, indicating that he has been bringing his meals back up. He cannot continue to continue this; his health is beginning to fall.” Elrond said; letting the words lift the heavy weight from his chest.  
“Has Thranduil been told of this?” Galadriel asked. She was now just as concerned with the Prince.  
“Legolas asks me to keep it from him. I feel I must honor his trust.” Elrond explained.  
“You cannot honor a truth if it is so damaging.” Galadriel said; meeting Elrond’s worried eyes.  
“Of course, but I wouldn’t even know how to bring such things up to Thranduil.” Elrond said.   
“Some things you may not know, but they still need to be done. This is one of those; speak to him, even if you have no plan. I can be with you, if you desire.” Galadriel offered.   
“I would like that, thank you.” Elrond said, as he bowed - accepting her offer. Galadriel offered her arm, so Elrond could feel a small comfort as they traversed the steps back into the House of Elrond.   
There was no denying the fact that Elrond was quite nervous. He had been just as nervous to bring anything to Legolas at all. The fact that he had seen this numerous times, it did not make it any easier, especially not with someone much closer to himself.  
Thranduil was sitting in the library. He was most definitely not in his own environment - but there was always something for anyone to read, as Elrond was the one who hosted most of the councils throughout Middle Earth.  
“My King, can we speak?” Elrond said, gently, as he walked towards Thranduil. The loud footsteps were the only sound heard throughout the floor.  
“Of what?” Thranduil asked, his eyes pierced through Elrond. Perceiving, brooding, and quite annoyed with the sudden disturbance in his peace.  
“Your son. It is quite urgent that you listen.” Elrond explained. He felt his fingers shaking upon Galadriel’s sleeve. He witnessed Thranduil’s expression change, as concern fell upon those same blue eyes.  
“Of course.” Thranduil said, as he placed the book upon a table.  
“I must ask that we go out into the courtyard.” Elrond suggested, and he led Thranduil to the large rotunda - open towards a brightly lit night sky. Elrond sat upon his own throne. Thranduil to his left, and Galadriel to his right - still observing his unprecedented nervous aura.  
“What is so urgent, that you must speak upon the moonlight?” Thranduil asked.  
“Your son, he isn’t well.” Elrond explained, his eyes unable to meet Thranduil’s, not at this moment.  
“I know that much. What I do not understand is his ailment. He will not speak of it; denying that anything is wrong.” Thranduil spoke. There was far less power in his voice, as he had grown more vulnerable. His son was deeply important, and that he had failed Legolas - he feared it.  
“So you are aware? Do you know what is ailing him? What he is doing?” Elrond asked.   
“I can only speak in speculation.” Thranduil said. His blonde hair falling to his slumped shoulders. Elrond took another inhale, as he gripped Galadriel once more. Her presence was quiet, but also just as loud.  
“Legolas isn’t as much physically as he is spiritually ill. He, while I dressed his wounds, admitted to depriving himself of food, purposefully.” Elrond said, quietly.  
“I suspected as much, but I do not understand why. He wouldn’t speak of it.” Thranduil said, clearly defeated.  
“He only spoke of a guilt, from the loss of his mother and for yourself.” Elrond said, recalling the intimate conversation with the Prince. Thranduil felt his own guilt coming forth. He had tried to shelter Legolas from his grief, as it still weighed heavily upon him.  
“Why do you bring this to me now, and not at the first moment?” Thranduil asked.  
“More concerning aspects were revealed. Legolas has spoken of bringing his food up, forcibly. I am not sure if it is recent, or something that has been running deeper.” Elrond explained. Galadriel dismissed herself, as it was now quite late in the night, and Elrond had broken his own anxieties.  
“What can be done about this? I do not know how I can help.” Thranduil asked, deeply affected by the information.  
“Speak to him first, and we can have a longer conversation; if you can get to him. I have seen this before, but it may be different.” Elrond explained.   
“I will do so in the morning, thank you.” Thranduil said, bowing, before they parted ways. Thranduil’s heart lay so heavy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally updated - thank u to the one who wanted me to, kinda forgot this existed.


	8. Do You Desire to Feel Such Misery?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil speaks.

Legolas awoke in the early morning with a persisting headache. The early sun leaked through the winding archways - contrasting his quite bitter mood. He pushed himself from the sheets, letting his cold feet hit the warmed stone floor.  
He was in another simple night dress. The silk drawers fell to above his knees, and the cotton shirt covering his torso, but only slightly. If he raised his arms, then it would pull a bit too far for his comfort.  
Legolas pulled the shirt off of his torso - so he could exchange it with a simple undershirt for his daily dress. He pulled a linen tunic from the clothing he had brought with him. It was woven with golden threads - giving it a metallic sheen in the sunlight.  
Legolas had begun to pull the shirt over his body, before realizing that his father was in the doorway, and had been for some moments.  
Legolas stopped for a second. His eyes widened.  
“Ada?” Legolas said. His breathing was shallow. Thranduil calmly smiled, as he walked into the room. The warm sunlight illuminated Legolas’s porcelain skin. Thranduil sat upon the bed, his own hands quite unsteady.  
“Sit.” Thranduil said, quietly. Legolas hesitantly sat beside his father - who had such a sad expression upon his face.  
“What do you need?” Legolas asked.  
“I desire to speak with you, as father to his son.” Thranduil said - a crystal sadness in his words.  
Legolas paused. Thranduil so clearly knew of what he was doing. His heart began to sink, desperately hoping to avert the conversation at hand.  
“Of what?” Legolas asked; trying to hide his uneasy fingers.  
“Of what you’re doing. I-I want to understand.” Thranduil said, uneasy - just as uneasy as Legolas.  
“I do not-doing what? Ada?” Legoas asked. He was, as of now, just playing stupid. The avoidance of the conversation was easier than realizing it had to happen.  
“I think you understand. Why are you depriving your food?” Thranduil asked - causing Legolas to freeze. He had no good answer. Every story he heard of - when the tales passed through the Woodland Realm - was deeper. He felt as if he wasn’t justified.  
“Guilt.” Legolas choked out. His eyes to the floor, unable to meet his father’s own.  
“Of what?” Thranduil asked; placing a gentle hand on Legolas’s shoulder - hoping to comfort him, as there was a clear distress.  
“Your grief. I felt guilt when she died, and you wouldn’t speak nor be seen. I-I began to blame myself.” Legolas explained. He looked toward Thranduil’s wide eyes. His icy eyes were not stark, instead they were full of a worry - his own guilt.  
“I apologize if I made you feel so. Grief isn’t kind to those around it, but nothing about it is your fault.” Thranduil said, reassuring a quite distraught Legolas.  
“I still feel as if I am at fault, but it’s no longer about those feelings. That was when it first started, now it’s just- when it started...it felt like I was floating, as if I could do anything. It subdued any awful emotion, but it wore off, and now I’m stuck. I feel as if I am desperate to feel so good again.” Legolas said, allowing his words to continue much further than he was comfortable with.  
Thranduil placed his gentle hands on Legolas’s. His long fingers covering the stark, red bruises - which contrasted with the colorless skin. Legolas felt a comfort; one that he hadn’t felt in many years.  
“And why do you- or are you doing this recent action? Bringing your food back up? It’s so horribly self-destructive.” Thranduil asked - brushing his thumb over the scars upon Legolas’s knuckles.  
“It’s not new. I just-I hadn’t done it in a while.” Legolas stammered.  
“Then why do it again?” Thranduil asked, cupping Legolas’s hands.  
“I couldn’t take such pain that came with the eating, but I couldn’t just deny myself the food. Elrond had given me such desperation. I could not deny the meal, but I could not take the way it made me feel.” Legolas explained.  
“I am deeply sorry if I ever made you feel so horrible. I was not aware that this was happening.” Thranduil said, as he pulled Legolas’s body towards his own; he hadn’t realized how much he had missed being so close to his own son - or anyone in that sense.  
“You are forgiven; it was never your fault; you should not blame yourself.” Legolas said, into his father’s chest.  
“This doesn’t excuse it. You do understand that this is dangerous, right? If this continues for too long you will grow deeply ill.” Thranduil said.  
“I understand.” Legolas said. He was somewhat tired of being told the dangers. He understood the way this would go if he desired to continue; he could not care.   
“You understand that you have to stop this.” Thranduil explained. Legolas pulled himself from his father’s arms.  
“I cannot, not now.” Legolas said, his voice falling.  
“So you desire to be so ill? I cannot, nor will I allow you to keep doing such horrid things to yourself.” Thranduil said, softly - yet his voice was stern. He was absolutely not to allow arguing.  
“You underestimate this. I cannot stop. I have tried, often have I tried.” Legolas said, quietly.  
“But you do desire to stop? Surely you’re miserable.” Thranduil said. He pushed a small strand of Legolas’s unbraided hair behind his ear.  
“I do. I don’t understand how.” Legolas said, quietly.  
“That we shall come to figure out. Do you desire to come to breakfast? You don’t have to eat much, but even just anything?” Thranduil asked, getting up from the bed. His heart both heavy and fleeting.  
“I’ll be down when I’m dressed.” Legolas said, dismissing his father.  
He was unable to process the conversation fully, but found relief in how calm it had gone. There were many moments where he feared his father, and what he might have said.  
Deeply fearing any further conversation - he began to braid his thinning hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those who reminded me this exists - I absolutely love playing in this writing style.

**Author's Note:**

> also pls, if you want this to continue - let me know - I timidly wrote this at 3 am


End file.
